


I Never Liked the Quiet Before

by theshipsfirstmate



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, just angsty introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 16:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5832358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshipsfirstmate/pseuds/theshipsfirstmate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They used to say Oliver Queen had it all. They don’t say that anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Never Liked the Quiet Before

_A/N: “[It’s Quiet Uptown](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DrrsmUzqweBI&t=ODBmOWEwZTQwODQ5OWZjMWNjZDU3NTExYTJmZTZiZWUxZGQ2MTBjMixCdXFHbE5vQw%3D%3D)” has been following me around for a few days, and gave me emotionally-regressive Oliver Queens feels. Straight-up introspection. Sorry for this._

**I Never Liked the Quiet Before**

_Oliver Queen doesn’t get to have a father._

When he thinks of Robert now, it’s hard to see anything but those terrifying final moments. That’s what happens when two people cling to life together, and one decides to let go, the memory gets seared onto the survivor like a brand. It’s hard to remember how they were as father and son, what they were to each other before they became those two people on that lifeboat. Mostly, Oliver recalls the scathing disappointment of his latter youth, an unimpressed raise of the eyebrow, a few curt words in passing.

When you’re young there’s a period, however brief, when you think your parents are the smartest people in the world. As Oliver grew older, he came to understand that no matter what, his father would always be the smartest people in the room. It was a move designed to make everyone else, even his son, feel small. And yet, even in death, the man’s message to him was a posture, a challenge. “Be better than I was.” It’s more like having a superior than a father, and he doesn’t resent it like he used to, but he wishes it were different.

He wishes he could ask him all the questions that have stopped him short over the last five years.

_Oliver Queen doesn’t get to have a mother._

At least with her, there are memories. Mixed memories, bittersweet, but still. Moira died knowing his truth, telling him for the first time in years that she was proud of him. She gave her life for Oliver and Thea and it’s that sacrifice, not his father’s, that he remembers when he takes reckless action in order to save the people he loves. There’s more of his mother under the hood than he’ll ever admit.

She’d still be proud, he’s almost sure of that. She’d worry for his safety, fret over Thea, probably butt heads with Felicity. His lets his heart ache, for just a moment, at the idea of normalcy he’ll never know. Then he packs that away, because like his mother, he’s more complicated on the inside.

He wishes he could see her face when he tells her he’s running for mayor.

_Oliver Queen doesn’t get to have a sister._

Even Thea’s only half his, though truthfully it doesn’t feel much different. Nothing has changed between them, except the entire structural framework that comprised the first two decades of their lives. She’s still Speedy, and the only thing that’s really varied are his worries about which bad habits of his are going to be the ones that kill her.

If Tommy were here, they might be able to laugh about it. Hell, if Tommy were here, maybe he could have helped save Thea before she was forced to follow Oliver into the darkness, forced to become someone else to survive. It will burn at him forever, that he failed at the one real responsibility his family left him.

He wishes he could keep her safe.

_Oliver Queen doesn’t get to have a best friend._

There’s not a day that goes by that he doesn’t think about that wall in the CNRI building falling on him instead, doesn’t feel that rebar pierce his own chest. Maybe the city would have survived if Tommy had, maybe everything would have turned out differently.

Diggle fills a part of that void, Roy did too, but there’s a brothers-in-arms thing between them as teammates. They’re grown men, warriors, smart enough not to grow roots too deep. That’s what they tell themselves as they steel their spines and stand alongside each other to look death in the eye. Tommy would have thought they were all nuts.

He wishes he could tell him how sorry he is.

_Oliver Queen doesn’t get to have a high school sweetheart._

His memories with Laurel, all of them, can be sorted into two neat categories – before and after – and he’s wrecked both of those lifetimes for her with his selfishness. That’s she’s still a part of his world after all this time is an anomaly, the exception that proves the rule. In 999,999 other lifetimes, Laurel Lance is happy, safe, and secure, in both her work and home life. Instead, in the bleak reality he’s manifested for them, she wraps herself in righteous justice and black leather to run directly at danger.

Life took so many things from her, and Oliver knows he took some of his own. But Laurel only gives. Her support, her strength, her absolutely fucking relentless optimism. Even when he tells her to stop, she gives. And their team, he’s finally able to admit, is better for it.

He wishes he had been good for her.

_Oliver Queen doesn’t get to have a true love._

He has one anyway, but fate keeps reminding him that he’s cheating the system. He tells Felicity that he loves her and almost dies with a sword through his chest and the memory of his lips pressed to her forehead. She tells him the same thing, one perfect night, and he sells his soul to the devil. He puts a ring on her finger and his enemies put a bullet in her spine.

He won’t leave her, couldn’t extricate himself from her orbit if he tried, and at the same time he can’t help thinking, far too often, how much better off she might be if he did. She tells him he’s wrong about that, over and over again, reminds him that she make a choice. But this might be the only thing he’s smarter about. When it comes to love, there’s no choice to make.

Oliver daydreams sometimes, about the story he might tell if they ever got to have a proper wedding. He’d regale their friends and family with the story of walking into her tiny IT office at Queen Consolidated, the first time she looked up at him and tilted her head skeptically, eyes twinkling behind her glasses. He’d tell them that’s when he knew, and it would be halfway true, because he had no idea what he was in for.

He’s not even sure what kind of wedding she wants at this point, somehow he knows theirs will be less than traditional. But thoughts rise, unbidden, of a big white dress and a tux, terrible speeches and drunk relatives dancing under a big tent, a glass under a napkin and cans tied to the back of his father’s convertible, every happy cliche he knows their lives won’t afford them.

He wishes he could give her everything she deserves.

_Oliver Queen doesn’t get to have a son._

It’s probably fair that he’s tortured with thoughts of William as often as he is, he’s got nine years of worry to make up for. It’s an impossible, thankless task, righting this wrong, and it’s obvious that he didn’t have the slightest clue where to begin because he started the whole thing on a lie that’s turned into a monolith he can’t find his way around.

The nostalgic ache in his chest turns sharp and painful when he thinks of his mother pulling the strings that turned his son – his _son_ – into a shameful secret, deprived them both of nearly a decade. Thanks to Moira, William isn’t something that’s his, just something he’s done, another painful responsibility he’ll spend his life trying to correct.

He wishes that one day, he’ll get to feel like a father.

_Oliver Queen doesn’t get to have happy memories._

The emotional life of a vigilante is regressive, one step forward followed by right hooks until you stagger further back than you started. Felicity told him recently that he could have it both ways, be the man she loves and the hero their city needs, and he believed her because he wanted it to be true. (She’s smarter than he is, stronger too.) But some days, he’s not sure if anything has changed at all. While he likes this version of himself better than any other, he’s starting to question whether or not the latest incarnation is equipped with the necessary firepower. He may have hated himself as a killer, but now it’s time to find out if he can live with himself as a milquetoast “hero” who has to deliver his warnings about failing the city into a mirror.

Felicity asked him once, if he had any happy stories, and it was too early then to tell her that the only ones he could think of started with her. She’s the happiest ending he knows he still doesn’t deserve, the only thing that keeps him in the light some days. If he can just eke out a few more years, try to bring as much happiness to her life as she’s brought into his, that would be enough.

He wishes for that, most of all.

 


End file.
